


Bedtime

by sluttyspock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Come Marking, Come Swallowing, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22034056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sluttyspock/pseuds/sluttyspock
Summary: Draco has trouble sleeping. Harry helps him out.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 123





	Bedtime

“Come to bed, love,” Harry calls out blearily where he’s leaning against the door frame of Draco’s study. Technically, it’s just the study, but the only one who ever spends any time in here is Draco. Harry rubs the sleep out of his eyes to peer at his husband. He’s seated at the great mahogany desk, gazing down at the parchment splayed out across the surface in front of him with his forehead creased into a deep frown and hair mused both from sleep and from the multiple times Draco must have run his hands through it. 

“Just a while more,” his husband answers, never looking up from his papers. “I can’t figure out why glowstone would destabilise this potion; but all means it should just bind the ingredients—” he trails off, the furious scratch of his quill against parchment loud as he strikes something off with a frustrated flourish. 

“It’s late, love,” Harry tries again, stepping past the threshold and into the room. It’s a majestic room, all heavy, polished wood that’s gleaming in the warm candlelight from the sconces on the wall and the moonlight streaming in from the large window behind Draco. So different from the rest of the manor, which they had renovated to be open and bright: heavy marble had been replaced with light wood and the walls, stripped of their dark, patterned wallpaper and replaced with floor-to-ceiling glass windows wherever possible. But the ancient volumes of the Malfoy library had been too delicate to be subjected to the same magic, and so they had left it as is when they moved in. In hindsight, Harry’s glad that they had done so. The chiaroscuro of the dark study and Draco’s pale skin and even paler hair, all the more blinding in the night, is so beautiful that for a fleeting moment, Harry wishes they had left the manor dark and shrouded.

It passes quickly - he has no regrets about overhauling the Malfoy Manor to rid it, and Draco, of the last vestiges of the war. 

Harry crosses the study to stand behind Draco’s chair and places his hands on his husband’s shoulders. They’re stiff as rocks with tension, but Harry can feel Draco relax slightly at his touch. It pleases Harry, how a simple touch could calm his usually anxious husband, how the effect of that simple touch hasn’t waned in over ten years. 

“Let me help,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to peck Draco’s lips as he spins Draco’s chair around so that the blonde faces him. Now face to face with him, Harry can see the eye bags under his stormy eyes, a testament to the string of sleepless nights he’s had trying to decipher the last bits of his latest research. It’s nearly coming to a head now, and Harry knows from years of watching his husband at work that this is usually the most trying time. He’s glad he decided to go with professional quidditch, honestly. 

Harry climbs into the chair, sliding his thighs against either side of Draco’s. He kisses him soft and slow, drawing his tongue teasingly across Draco’s lips before nudging them open. As his tongue slides against Draco’s, he spells away Draco’s clothes with a twist of his wrist. He smirks into the kiss as he feels the full-bodied shudder Draco emits and the interested jerk of his cock against his own through the thin material of his boxers. Draco’s so predictable at times - wandless, wordless magic never fails to get him riled up. 

When he pulls off of the kiss with Draco, almost unconsciously, leaning forward as if unwilling to halt the kiss. Harry places a firm hand against Draco’s sternum, stopping him from recapturing his lips. “Let me,” he repeats again, licking a stripe along the Sectumsempra scar that trails up Draco’s jaw to his ear. It says volumes about their relationship, Harry thinks, that the jagged, raised line resides where one of Draco’s erogenous zones does, unwittingly discovered by them both early on in their relationship.

He slides off the chair and onto the floor. It’s a familiar dance, but one that never gets old. Draco automatically parting his legs wider to give Harry greater access, exposing himself wantonly, unabashedly, wonderfully - his expanse of pale, naked skin, bathed in the light of the study, is glowing. Harry loves it even more that Draco’s only still half-hard. There’s something so unspeakably intimate about it, not to speak of the pride he feels when he’s the one to work his husband up to full mast. 

Slowly, in no rush to get to the end and remembering his mission to distract Draco as completely as he can, Harry kisses up his right thigh before nuzzling his nose into the soft fuzz of hair at Draco’s balls. He lets the involuntary sigh that leaves him ghost feather-light across the sensitive skin, teasing the other man even more. The scent of Draco - clean and citrusy from his soap but with the musk that can only be described as man and Draco - has always left his mouth watering. 

Draco cards his hands gently through Harry’s hair and Harry nearly purrs at the touch. He loves being on his knees for Draco, loves the trust that this man, so guarded against most of the world, gifts him with. Without any warning, Harry takes Draco’s cock into his mouth. He takes especial care to wrap his lips around his teeth, making sure not to hurt the soft flesh. Like this, not yet fully hard, Harry can swallow Draco down to the root no problem. He buries his nose further into the tach of blonde hair at Draco’s pubis, swirling his tongue around the member and feeling it fill with blood inside his mouth. 

It doesn’t take long before Draco’s fully hard, and Harry pulls back both to breathe and to admire his handiwork. Draco’s dick stands proud and erect, the reddened head curving slightly towards his belly and the impressive length glistening with Harry’s saliva. 

He knows what he must look now - on his knees, lips swollen from sucking dick, shiny with saliva, a trail of which still links his mouth to Draco’s cock - and the thought of looking so clearly debauched by and for Draco, no less, drives Harry dizzy with want. It clearly has the same effect on Draco, judging by the way he works his hand up and down his shaft while keeping his eyes fixated on Harry.

Harry dives right back into it, using the broad of his tongue to swipe across the soft skin of Draco’s sac and relishing the throaty moan that emits from above him. He takes one of Draco’s balls fully into his mouth, massaging and fondling the other one with his hand for a good minute or so before switching to lave his tongue over the other ball. Draco’s breathing is clearly laboured now, and his chants that seem to consist alternately of “Potter” and “fuck” are music to Harry’s ears. Moving his hand away, Harry sticks it down the front of his pants to stroke his own rock hard length slightly and returns his attentions to Draco’s cock, taking the length deep into his throat and sucking hard. At the sweet suction of Harry’s mouth, Draco’s bum arches off the chair with a shout of pleasure.

Harry loses himself in the rhythmic sucking and bobbing up and down his length. The only thing he’s aware of is Draco: Draco’s hardness in his mouth, Draco’s smell assaulting his senses, Draco’s hand wrapping tighter around the strands of Harry’s hair, using the strands to guide Harry’s head furiously fast up and down his length. The filthy sounds of Harry chocking against his length, desperately fighting his gag reflex to take Draco as deeply as he wants him to, fill Harry’s ears and makes his dick weep even more - there’s nothing like being reduced to a hole for Draco to fuck, to chase his pleasure, that turns Harry on, and it’s barely a few more pumps of his hips into the circle of his fist in his pants that Harry comes with a strangled moan that’s stifled by, well, the cock in his mouth. 

“Fuck, that’s fucking hot,” Draco breathes out. It takes only a few more thrusts after that and with one final, powerful thrust upwards as Harry moves on the downstroke, Draco fills Harry’s mouth with his seed. Harry loves this moment, loves the feeling of the throbbing, pulsing vein pumping come into his mouth that he nearly whines when Draco uses his hold in his hair to yank him off his dick. His complaints are short lived, however, when he feels the first splash of hot come across his cheekbone. He closes his eyes, relishing the erratic streaks painting his chin, his nose, and, in the case of particularly powerful jerk, his forehead. When Harry lolls his tongue out, some of it joins the pool of white in Harry’s mouth that he’s loathe to swallow just yet. 

Harry slowly blinks his eyes open, the tacky come making opening his eyelids slightly difficult. Even when he opens his eyes, there are strings of come connecting his eyelashes and obscuring part of his vision. It doesn’t diminish how glorious the sight that greets him is, however - Draco, flushed all the way from his cheeks to his chest, chest heaving and nipples still peaked with arousal, and his groin and the seat cushion a mess of saliva and come. He’s slumped down in his chair now, boneless and breathless from his orgasm. 

Slowly, deliberately, Draco leans forward in his chair. He wraps his palm around Harry’s throat, firmly enough that Harry can feel the pressure of his hand, but never tight enough to hurt. 

“Swallow,” Draco tells him, and Harry does. He closes his mouth and works his throat, savouring its delicious saltiness and feeling the slide of the viscous liquid down his throat. There’s no doubt that Draco feels it too with his hand where it is; feels the most visceral parts of him entering Harry, feels Harry accept everything that Draco gives him. 

“Ready for bed?” Harry asks him, his voice coming out lower and scratchier than usual from his well-fucked throat. 

“Yes,” Draco answers. “Let’s go to bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by this wonderful piece of art https://zurka-durka.tumblr.com/post/189904781358/extremely-soft because I love the idea of Draco’s Sectumsempra scars being visible; I’ve always thought of Sectumsempra as a central part of Drarry’s relationship. Anyway, Happy New Year everyone! 🥳


End file.
